She suddenly fell upon the frightened Velchaninov.
“If you take me, I’ll…”
But she had no time to say anything more; Pavel Pavlovich grabbed her by the arm, almost by the scruff of the neck, and now with unconcealed animosity dragged her to the little room. There again followed several minutes of whispering; stifled weeping could be heard. Velchaninov was about to go in himself, when Pavel Pavlovich came out to him and with a twisted smile announced that she would presently come out, sir. Velchaninov tried not to look at him and averted his eyes.
Marya Sysoevna also came, the same woman he had met earlier on entering the corridor, and started packing into Liza’s pretty little bag the linen she had brought for her.
“So, dearie, you’re going to take the girl?” she addressed Velchaninov. “You’ve got a family or something? It’ll be a good thing to do, dearie: she’s a quiet child, you’ll deliver her from this Sodom.”5
“Now, now, Marya Sysoevna,” Pavel Pavlovich began to mutter.
“What, Marya Sysoevna! Everybody knows my name. And isn’t it a Sodom here? Is it fitting for a child who understands to look at such shame? They’ve brought a carriage for you, dearie—to Lesnoye, is it?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Well, good luck to you!”
Liza came out with a pale little face, her eyes downcast, and took her bag. Not one glance in Velchaninov’s direction; she restrained herself and did not rush, as earlier, to embrace her father, even when saying good-bye; evidently she did not even want to look at him. Her father decorously kissed her on the head and patted it; at that her lips twisted and her chin trembled, but even so she did not raise her eyes to her father. Pavel Pavlovich looked somewhat pale, and his hands trembled—this Velchaninov noticed clearly, though he tried as hard as he could not to look at him. He wanted one thing: to leave quickly. “And, anyway, what fault is it of mine?” he thought. “It had to be this way.” They went downstairs, there Marya Sysoevna kissed Liza, and only when she was already settled in the carriage did Liza raise her eyes to her father—and suddenly clasp her hands and cry out: another moment and she would have rushed to him from the carriage, but the horses had already started off.
VI
THE NEW FANTASY OF AN IDLE MAN
“You’re not feeling bad?” Velchaninov was frightened. “I’ll order them to stop, to fetch water…”
She looked up at him with a burning, reproachful glance. “Where are you taking me?” she said sharply and curtly.
“It’s a wonderful family, Liza. They’re now living in a wonderful country house; there are many children, they’ll love you there, they’re kind… Don’t be angry with me, Liza, I wish you well…”
He would have seemed strange at this moment to anyone who knew him, if they could have seen him.
“You’re so… you’re so… you’re so… ohh, how wicked you are!” Liza said, choking with stifled tears, her angry, beautiful eyes flashing at him.
“Liza, I…”
“You’re wicked, wicked, wicked, wicked!” She was wringing her hands. Velchaninov was completely at a loss.
“Liza, dear, if you knew what despair you drive me to!”
“Is it true that he’ll come tomorrow? Is it true?” she asked imperiously.
“It’s true, it’s true! I’ll bring him myself; I’ll get him and bring him.”
“He’ll deceive me,” Liza whispered, lowering her eyes.
“Doesn’t he love you, Liza?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Has he hurt you? Has he?”
Liza looked at him darkly and was silent. She turned away from him again and sat stubbornly looking down. He started persuading her, spoke heatedly to her, was in a fever himself. Liza listened mistrustfully, hostilely, but she did listen. Her attention gladdened him extremely: he even began to explain to her what a drinking man was. He said that he himself loved her and would look after her father. Liza finally raised her eyes and gazed at him intently. He started telling her how he had once known her mama, and saw that she was getting caught up in his stories. Little by little she began gradually to answer his questions—but cautiously and monosyllabically, with stubbornness. She still did not give any reply to his main questions: she was stubbornly silent about everything concerning her former relations with her father. As he talked with her, Velchaninov took her little hand in his, as earlier, and would not let it go; she did not pull it away. The girl was not totally silent, however; she did let slip in her vague replies that she used to love her father more than her mama, because formerly her father had always loved her more, and her mama formerly had loved her less; but that when her mama was dying, she had kissed her a lot and wept, when everyone left the room and the two of them remained alone… and that she now loved her more than anyone, more than anyone, anyone in the world, and every night she loved her more than anyone. But the girl was indeed proud: catching herself letting it slip, she suddenly withdrew into herself again and fell silent; she even looked hatefully at Velchaninov for making her let it slip. Toward the end of their journey, her hysterical state had nearly passed, but she became terribly pensive and looked around like a little savage, sullenly, with a gloomy, predetermined stubbornness. As for the fact that she was now being taken into a strange home, where she had never been before, this seemed for the moment to embarrass her very little. She was tormented by something else, Velchaninov could see that; he guessed that she was ashamed of
“She’s ill,” he thought, “maybe very; she’s been tormented… Oh, mean, drunken creature! I understand him now!” He kept urging the coachman on; he had hopes in the country house, the air, the garden, the children, the new, the unfamiliar to her life, and then, later… But of what would come afterward he no longer had any doubts; there were full, clear hopes. Only one thing he knew absolutely: that he had never before experienced what he experienced then, and that it would stay with him for the rest of his life! “Here is the goal, here is life!” he thought rapturously.
Many thoughts flashed in him now, but he did not dwell on them and stubbornly avoided details: without the
